Reparations
by Ione
Summary: Post-Avengers. Loki, stripped of his powers, has been sent back to Earth for punishment at the hands of the people he hurt. But Steve has seen enough suffering and convinces Director Fury that there's another way for Loki to atone for his crimes. It doesn't take him long to realize that making Loki remorseful is a bigger job than he could have possibly anticipated. ONESHOT


Reparations

A gift fic for catsbythegreat1

"Shouldn't he be in a more…secure cell, sir?"

The single layer of bulletproof glass seemed far too flimsy to hold Loki, the would-be conqueror of Earth. Especially since last time he'd been in a SHIELD facility, he'd been in the cage meant to hold the Hulk.

"We don't think it's necessary, Cap," Director Fury said, grinning as Loki—bereft of armor and scowling like a scolded teenager—sneered up at them from his squeaking cot. "Thor assured us that his powers have been stripped."

"Even if that's the case," Steve tamped down on his irritation as he started to feel—like he felt most of the time—that he was missing something, "what's he doing here? Thor took him back to Asgard to be punished."

"And part of his punishment has been to come back here—as a newly-minted mortal—and help clean up the mess he made. Gotta say," this was directed at Loki, "I admire your father's sense of humor."

Under the fluorescent lights in the jail, Loki looked skeletal. Steve recognized the dark circles under his eyes as the infallible indicators of insomnia, and the wrinkles at the corner of his mouth as the signs of age and endless frustration. "Odin is not my father. No true father would subject his son to such a pathetic attempt at humiliation."

"Oh, I don't know," Fury grinned, "it's a parent's job to get tough with their kids. And if you say you're not humiliated, I'll have to try and think of new ways to make your stay here more interesting. I'm sure I can get creative. What do you think about having to ask for toilet paper every time you use the head?"

"What do you think about my tearing open your stomach and strangling you with your own intestines?"

"So he's here to help us clean up," Steve interjected, "Are we just going to let him loose on the streets? Assign him to a FEMA team?"

"That's where you come in, Cap," Fury gave Loki one last parting smirk before he turned back to Steve. "Since your SHIELD's face in the relief efforts, I want you to make sure he's front and center in all the PR talks. And that he behaves himself."

"Is that a good move, sir?" Steve glanced Loki's way long enough to assure himself that the Asgardian had no intention of playing along, "I don't think people want to be reminded of who caused all the damage when we're trying to fix it. Shouldn't we just have a public trial and put him away?"

"He's already had his trial, and we're going to make sure that everyone knows he's serving his punishment. I think it'll be cathartic for the people of Earth to see him dressed in an orange jumpsuit and working a shovel."

Steve could not disagree more. The thought of having to corral Loki's sneering face into something like remorse during a national broadcast struck him as both impossible and pointless. "I know a little something about pride, sir, and I don't think for the sake of his that he'll let us do this," he murmured. "I wouldn't."

"Listen to your soldier, Fury," the lines around Loki's mouth deepened, "Mortal or not, no tortures you can inflict will be enough to make me a performing ape."

Steve hated to agree with the man, but he had to. "And if we do put him out there, we'd have to put so many resources on his security detail that it wouldn't be worth it. Don't you think someone will try to take a shot at him?"

"Thor will be so disappointed if anything should happen to me," Loki pulled an exaggeratedly sorrowful face. "I am his baby brother, you know. And what will Odin do to your precious Midgard if you allow _his_ prisoner to be murdered under _your_ care?"

Fury's smile lost a little of its glow. "Walk with me, Cap,"

Behind them, Loki called, "Take his advice, Fury! If I cannot have your Realm, I will bring Asgard's wrath down upon you with my death."

The Director didn't reply. He didn't speak until they were heading up from the basement of the Triskelion. In the confines of the glass elevator, rising swiftly above the backdrop of Washington, he said, "Thor did stress that he wanted his brother returned alive and unharmed."

"Then this plan won't work," Steve said, crossing his arms, "even if torture were an option, I won't be complicit in something like that. And if we bring him out and parade him in public, you can bet someone will try to take matters into their own hands. He'll be dead by the end of the week."

They left the elevator on Fury's private floor, and the Director sat heavily down behind his desk. Steve, not invited to sit nor particularly willing to prolong this discussion, remained standing. Idly, he wondered if this was to be his role in SHIELD from now on; a hard block of extra muscle to be called out when needed and packed away when not.

As much as following orders made him feel a part of the world he had left behind, there were times he knew that this SHIELD was not fighting a fight he believed in. This run in with Loki was merely the latest example of Director Fury's…questionable judgment.

"What's on your mind?"

Steve straightened up and cleared his throat. "Probably the same thing that's on yours, sir. What are we going to do with the prisoner?"

Fury nodded, hiding his pursed lips behind his gloved hands. "And your ideas on the subject?"

He sighed. "I worked with some rough characters during the War, but I never had to rehabilitate an enemy. I don't think sending him to a therapist would help."

Fury laughed, sitting back in his chair. "I'd pay a hell of a lot to see that, but I'm not gonna inflict that piece of work on Dr. Rheiner. Loki's not the kind of guy to talk out his problems."

"No," Steve agreed, "but he might respond to other things."

"Not torture," Fury clarified, raising his eyebrow. "You already ruled that out. So what do you suggest?"

For a moment, Steve considered. Then, slowly, "From what we learned from Thor, we know that his brother's adopted from a planet that the Asgardians consider to be savages. We know that Loki tried to wipe these…" even after everything he'd seen, it still sounded ludicrous, "frost giants off the map. But he did it to show that he was a true Asgardian."

"Yeah, Cap," Fury sounded doubtful, "I was there when Thor told us all this."

"What I mean, sir," he replied, "is that Loki's got something to prove. Even his attempted takeover of Earth could be seen as a way to show that he's got just as much right to be a royal as his brother."

"It's a good motive, but he still killed a lot of good people."

"I don't mean to excuse him. What I mean is that if he feels he has something to prove, then let him do it. Don't humiliate him, don't show him off…but let him prove to us that he can be trusted."

"You don't think I'm going to approve something like that, do you? If he's not fit to help clean up the city, he's in no way good to be left on his own."

"No, he's not. But there might be another way." The idea had taken root now, and Steve talked as he walked, pacing back and forth in front of Fury's desk. "I get the feeling that Loki's a planner. He thinks about how to play the game. We should give him time and space to figure out how he acts from here. He needs to be away from people. When he's ready, then we can see how he fits into the relief efforts. Like it or not, Loki's a powerful being, and an old one. We can't condescend to him."

Fury groaned. "You're taking away all my fun. And who's gonna watch this powerful, immortal would-be god-king until he decides to put on his big boy pants?"

Steve swallowed. "I think I know something about adapting to new circumstances. Besides, he's still strong and a good fighter, despite being human. I can handle him."

"It's a big job, Cap. You sure you're up for it?"

He stood straight and nodded. A challenge was exactly what he needed…and getting time and space of his own would be welcome. "I am."

()()()

Two days later, and Steve was almost certain—for the first time in his life—that he was in over his head.

Loki's left jab caught him just under the ribcage; he absorbed the shock to his kidney with a grunt and blocked the right cross that came, lightning-quick, towards his nose. He countered with a roundhouse of his own, and Loki, unused to such speed from humans—and slower in his own diminished condition—backed off.

The former god's face was rigid with tension, every crease and line carved deep as he sneered and wiped the trickle of blood that dribbled from his nose. A bruise bloomed like a purple flower under his eye, shining with the sweat the dripped from his hair.

"Can we call it?" Steve asked, trying not to pant. "We've been at this for an hour." And somehow, the Battle of Manhattan had seemed easier to get through than this sparring match. Loki fought dirty and fought to win.

Loki answered by driving in with his right shoulder. Steve dodged and spun Loki by the shoulder, driving two body shots to the man's diaphragm.

"It's over," he said to Loki's bent back. The man braced himself against the trampled mats, wheezing. Steve took him by the upper arm, trying to pull him up, only to have his hand violently twisted and thrown away. Loki grunted and sat back on his heels, catching his breath.

"Do not touch me, mortal," he growled, "We are not done."

"Oh yes, we are." Steve turned away sharply and tore at the taping on his hands.

"Coward," Loki called after him, voice hoarse still from gasping.

Steve had to stop himself from reacting. He'd never been good at keeping his temper in check—he recalled quite a few beatings that resulted from him being unable to avoid taking on someone who deserved it—but he had a mission to carry out here. If he was trying to reach Loki, he had to stay above his level and lead him up by example.

But so far, trying to lead Loki—even indirectly—was like trying to lead a mule.

Steve wound his tape into two neat little balls and set them down near the set of free weights in the gym. Then he toweled off his sweating face and grabbed another clean towel for Loki. By the time he looked back, he had checked his bad mood.

He handed the towel over. Loki took it and blotted at his nose. He stared at the blood in distaste and scoffed. "This wretched body. How do you humans survive even your meager allotment of years?"

"We adapt," Steve said briskly, stepping to the edge of the mats and leaning against the treadmill. "We learn to accept our weaker bodies and understand our limits."

Groaning, Loki stood. "And what narrow limits you have," he said, pressing a hand to his side. "I wonder Thor dares to love one of your breed. I should think that one night with an Aesir would be the death of a human."

Steve looked away. He'd met Jane Foster; she'd seemed lovely. Fiercely intelligent, driven, beautiful, friendly. He'd also seen Jane and Thor standing side-by-side, and part of him had to wonder the same thing.

"Oh, Captain," Loki grinned at him and Steve wondered how he managed to bleed the expression of any good-nature or kindness. The show of teeth reminded him of the hungry show of a shark closing in on a thrashing fish. "You're blushing. Has it been so long for you that the mere _idea_ of copulation serves to embarrass?"

"You know, I'm surprised no one from Asgard seems to miss you," it was a cheap shot, but he needed to give his warm cheeks time to cool, "You're a real charmer."

Loki slung the towel over his shoulders and stretched, sweat shining off lean muscle in the late-afternoon sun. Steve bit down on his tongue—not for the first time that day—and forced himself to look nowhere but in Loki's mocking eyes.

Suddenly Loki's eyes were no longer mocking. "Perhaps I was mistaken in deducing the reason for your volunteering in my babysitting detail, Captain. If it has truly been as long for you as I suspect it has, perhaps you wish to enjoy the spoils of war."

Steve's throat was suddenly dry. "Y-You…" he trailed off, "That's not something I—"

"Oh, indeed not, Captain. You are a man of honor." Loki sidled closer, winding the tape from his hands slowly around one finger. "There is no shame in the matter. I could tell you stories of the many times I—"

"That's not necessary," Steve interrupted, "I told you why I was here."

"Yes," Loki straightened up and suddenly the tense atmosphere dissipated, "My reclamation into productive society. A goal you seem to think attainable during your lifetime." He sighed dramatically, shaking his head. "I suppose humanity's pointless optimism is another quality you consider useful to your race's survival?"

"Anything that keeps us moving forward," he nodded.

"Anything…" the word disappeared in a laugh. "Do you know how unlikely it is that your race will survive till the dawn of its next century? You tear yourself apart internally in the absence of strong leadership…and strong leadership is something you will need if you are to withstand the forces at work in the Nine Realms."

"We just withstood an alien invasion," Steve smiled, "I think we can handle whatever comes next."

Loki shook his head, a sudden sincerity weighing down his features. "It will be your tragedy if you truly believe that."

()()()

The SHIELD facility that housed them—rather obviously called the Fridge—was luxurious, if cold and impersonal to Steve's tastes. They had the entire top floor and the roof to themselves, with more bedrooms and rec rooms and gyms and lounges than Steve had been used to in his entire life. And that included his stint doing USO shows, which gave him a standard of housing as far above his mother's tiny apartment as the Fridge was above that.

Despite everything, though…he missed it. He missed his old life. The excitement of the fight with Loki and meeting the Avengers had worn off, and with it had most of his enthusiasm regarding the new world he discovered, bit by bit, each day. On the TV he found 5,000 channels that gave him cop shows and crime dramas, reality TV and a 24-hour news cycle that poured civil struggles at home and wars in Afghanistan and Iraq down his throat.

There was so much he'd missed…not just in terms of events and culture, but in attitude.

Despite what Coulson had told him, Steve knew that the stars and stripes were more than a little old-fashioned. He was a relic of a world that no longer existed.

Steve did not surrender to the thought. He would not. He fought that idea. Each morning when he woke up, he faced it down with the same courage and resolve that he'd fought every enemy in his life.

But he knew it was a losing struggle. He had no backup. His old friends were either dead or dying. His new friends were either gone…or incapable of understanding what he'd stood for, and what he'd lost.

He stood straight; his muscles were brittle, breaking with the strain. He smiled; to do otherwise would be to lie down and sleep again. He did his duty; it was all he had left.

He might have lived on like that indefinitely.

But Loki was there.

Loki was still moving slowly after their morning match. Steve reprimanded himself once more for the unnecessarily hard takedown. He watched as Loki settled onto the stool by the counter with a wince, which only deepened as he stared at the plate Steve set before him. "This is dinner? I have only just accustomed myself to the woman who usually prepares our meals, if such they are to be called. Am I now to be poisoned by your culinary efforts?"

"No insults to the cook, please," Steve put salt and pepper on the table between them and turned back to the pantry for garlic powder and basil. "And wait until you've had it. No one's ever insulted my meatballs."

"A very literal name for a very uninspiring meal," Loki rolled the four meatballs down off the mound of spaghetti underneath. With a face screwed up tight like a child dodging his vegetables, he peeled off a tiny fragment of meat and chewed it slowly.

Steve smiled as the expression on Loki's face melted into one of cautious interest. "There, you see? I won't even ask for an apology."

"The meal is edible. Please do not overestimate my enthusiasm."

Steve bit his tongue—it was raw in some places after ten days in Loki's company—and pulled a tight smile. "I suppose then a 'thank you' is out of the question?"

"Our mortal bodies require almost constant nourishment. If I thanked everyone who prepared a meal for me, my thanks would soon mean nothing at all."

"Now see," Steve cut a meatball in half and chewed it slowly, "that would work as an excuse if I'd ever heard you thank anybody for anything."

"Please rest assured, Captain," he ate a single strand of spaghetti, "that had anyone done anything worth my thanks, they would have been forthcoming."

"So a 'thanks' to me for keeping SHIELD from torturing you never crossed your mind?" he kept his tone neutral despite wanting very badly to take Loki by his narrow shoulders and shake him until his teeth rattled.

"Had you tortured me as it was clear Director Fury wanted to do," Loki fixed him in place with a glare, "your life would have been forfeit upon Thor's return. Not to mention the chance of any alliance between Asgard and Midgard."

Steve's nerves, wound tight and tighter still, started to fray. But he was stronger than they were, he was in control.

"Maybe you were sent here because your father wanted you punished, but knew that your brother would never accept that. Maybe we were meant to read between the lines."

Loki laughed, and shoved his uneaten dinner away. He leaned back and threw his elbows over the back of his stool. "Well done. Your carefully-crafted exterior of toy soldier hides an incisive mind."

"Doesn't that bother you? That you were sent here so we could beat you into some kind of remorse?"

"It might, if I thought that anything you might do could make me regret my actions."

Steve shook his head. "So you really don't feel anything? You've lived on Earth now for, what? Three, four weeks? And you still don't see anything wrong with what you tried to do?"

"I was attempting to rule Midgard as a benevolent god. To take her people's surprising innovation and ambition and guide it to something greater. With proper leadership, your people could have become a power in the universe." Loki's hands clenched, closing futilely on empty air. "No one understood. And your world will suffer for that misunderstanding."

"You wanted to show Odin that you could rule as well—better—than he could," Steve spoke quietly, holding himself back from showing any emotion. Was this his way in at last?

"I _can_ rule better than he!" in an explosive moment, Loki shoved away from the counter and his stool crashed to the floor. His face, normally so controlled into whatever emotion he hoped to convey, was twisted and tense. His lips gouged a snarl, his teeth ground together. "I can rule better than his whole dynasty! None of them have ever known what it is to strive for authority, to _prove_ themselves worthy."

"Thor did."

"_Thor_," he spat the name, "Thor learned some truths during his time on Midgard—learned some humility and respect from his mortal consort—but his ignorance of the universe will show him just as unfit for the throne as Odin. And _Odin_, Odin All-Father…soured by arrogance, so high above all others that he cannot even _see_—"

He stopped. Breathed. His tongue flicked out, wiped away the flecks of spittle that had frothed over during his rage. Steve was silent, waiting. He had seen soldiers in crisis before. There was nothing he could do or say until the moment had passed.

In another moment, it did. Loki turned to face him, and Steve only just managed to keep the shock off his face when he saw the tears in the other man's eyes. Loki blinked, and one of them overflowed the lids and traced the long line down his nose.

Steve looked at that, waiting.

Loki cleared his throat, and said, "No, Captain. There is nothing you could do to make me regret what I have done."

()()()

If Steve's large, heavy frame allowed him to walk softly, he certainly would have done that over the next few days. Loki avoided him. The apartment was silent. The world outside was silent, save when quinjets landed, ferrying prisoners or supplies to and from the cells in the Fridge. He stood on the roof and looked down on the tiny figures walking below. They might have been on a different planet. He was so high above them. Unreachable. Lonely.

Steve was no longer sure this retreat—this endless time and empty space—was doing any good for either Loki or himself. He felt his already tenuous grasp on the world slipping further out of his grasp every day.

So when a dispatch came from SHIELD HQ about a cleanup effort—repairing the subway tunnels near the library, damaged so heavily by the flying leviathans—he brought the idea of participating to Loki.

"It'll be underground," he said, again suppressing the eagerness he felt, "I'll make sure there will be no TV crews, no publicity. It's just a chance to do something. Fix something."

"Is this a subtle reminder of the many things I have to fix?" Loki had not met his eyes once since the subject was raised. His long fingers opened and closed, the fingertips rubbing absently against his knuckles. "Or a vocalization of your own desire to escape this prison?"

"This isn't a prison," Steve lied, "You should have seen the place I grew up in. It's a palace by comparison."

"Having been raised in an actual palace," a rueful smirk twisted the corner of his mouth, "I can assure you that this is a prison. Do you want me to express interest in this project on my behalf?" Steve flinched when Loki looked at him, stared, as though he had never looked at Steve once before, "Or on yours?"

"Which is more likely to get you to do it?" Steve tried to quip, but it fell flat. He held his breath.

Loki blinked. He inhaled, almost spoke, stopped. The smirk grew wider. "I will do this, as you ask, Captain. There is no need we should both suffer in this incarceration. You are a man of action. Even I recognize it would be unfair to keep you confined for so long."

"You…" now he found himself unable to speak. He tried again. "You'd do this for me?"

"Much as it was unasked and will likely prove to be useless," Loki looked away and back at his hands, "your help did help me avoid what would have been an unpleasant experience in this weakened body. A day hauling rock and laying track is a small price to pay in recompense."

In a rush almost overwhelming in its speed and intensity, Steve felt the tension in his shoulders wind down. He felt his heartbeat surge, his muscles relax, and his breathing come easier.

He was laughing before he realized it. Laughing the way he remembered doing, over seventy years ago. Laughing with Bucky, Peggy…the rest of the Howling Commandos. His friends.

"That's what it takes to get a 'thank you' out of you?" he finally asked, shaking his head as the fit subsided. "Although," he cut Loki off, "I'm not even sure if that counts. You twist things around so much I think I might have to parse that sentence to get its meaning."

"You understand my meaning well," Loki assured him, looking askance at Steve's smiling, relaxed face. "If you smile any more I will no longer recognize you." He stood, backing away, still studying Steve's expression, which had not faded. "I leave you to…inform the good Director Fury of my progress. If you do not receive a promotion after this you should consider yourself cheated."

()()()

Six days, three forays into New York to assist in cleanup efforts, and four bottles of vodka later, Steve and Loki were staring out over the empty ocean by which the Fridge sat, trying—and failing—to drink each other under the table.

It had been a while since Steve had tested his drinking ability; longer still since he'd met anyone who could possibly have matched his capabilities in that arena. Loki's body was human, but his metabolism seemed to run hot, just like Steve's. He seemed more than capable of holding his own.

Having only been drunk twice in his life before (both many, many years earlier) Steve had a hard time remembering what drunk even felt like.

He poured another two shots, not spilling a drop. No effect on his motor control.

He walked back to the low table they shared and set Loki's drink down. He could still walk a straight line.

Loki raised his glass and said, "We should make the rest of our evening more memorable."

"Oh?" He could still process words and formulate responses.

"Yes," Loki drawled the word, leaning forward. His eyes were bright, eager. "What say you to a game?"

He laughed. "What, like Truth or Dare? Are we preteen girls?"

At Loki's blank look, he clarified, "Truth or Dare is when—"

"The meaning is clear," Loki interrupted. He considered. "Yes. Yes, that will serve."

"Will serve for what?"

He didn't reply. With a smile, he asked, "Well then, would you rather tell a truth or accept a dare?"

"Truth," Steve replied. He downed his drink and went to fetch the bottle. His fingers slipped off the neck of it, but he chalked that up to the beads of condensation on the glass, not his shaking fingers.

His fingers weren't shaking. He was not drunk; he was not nervous. His fingers were not shaking.

"How predictable," Loki held his glass to be filled. "Very well. Why did you agree to be my chaperone?"

Steve gave himself a moment by taking another swig. Without the fun of getting drunk, vodka was a bit of a boring drink. And it made his throat burn. And he still hadn't answered.

"I didn't agree. I suggested it to Director Fury."

"And why did you suggest it?"

"No," he countered, smiling. Smiles seemed to come so easily those days. "I told you the truth. It's my turn now."

Loki sat back and nodded. "Dare."

Steve tried to remember what common dares were. Nudity seemed to figure pretty regularly; should he ask Loki to take off his clothes?

The thought was so confusing he took another drink and choked on the swallow.

"Are you well, Captain?" Loki's smile was a darker mirror of Steve's own.

"Yeah, yeah," he said, wiping stray drops of vodka from his shirt. "Fine. Uh, a dare," he felt his face getting warmer as all his ridiculous brain could supply to him was the vision of a naked Loki. "I dare you to call me 'Steve'."

"_That's _your dare? Did I not say that the purpose of this game was to make this evening more interesting? Surely there are many other things you wish to challenge me to do?"

_Stop thinking about nudity_, he ordered himself, biting down hard on his healing tongue. "Well, you've never done it. So that's my dare. Call me 'Steve' until we stop working together."

Loki sighed. "Very well, _Steve_. But should you fail to rise to the spirit of the game, I warn you I will simply retire."

The idea of being left alone on the roof with nothing but alcohol for company was suddenly terrifying. Was he compromised emotionally? Lonely? Depressed?

Of course he was. And had been. For far too long.

"Steve?"

"Yes," he said, "yes. What?"

"I asked if you preferred truth or dare."

He shrugged. "I'll make it interesting. Dare."

"Kiss me."

He didn't cough, or choke, or splutter. What he did do was far more embarrassing. He felt himself growing red, then redder…and in a moment it felt like his face was on fire. It wasn't fair. He hadn't had much opportunity to get experience with girls before the super serum, and during the war…well, there hadn't been time for much of anything during the war.

Loki was trying to embarrass him. He knew—someone must have told him—and he wanted to make him ashamed that a man of his age…

He didn't finish the thought. He stepped over the coffee table, plunked himself down next to Loki, put one hand on each side of his face, and pulled Loki's mouth to his own.

In the darkness behind his closed eyes, Steve felt everything. The tiny catch of Loki's breath as their lips met, the man's strong pulse beating steadily in the palm of his hand, the smell and taste of vodka, the heat of Loki's skin—and his own.

When his tongue flickered out—it was a memory of what Peggy had done the last time they'd ever kissed—he half-expected to find Loki's mouth closed to him.

He was wrong.

Time shifted, distorted. He lost track of seconds, then minutes. For all he knew, they had been sitting like this for hours. Except that was impossible. He was kissing an enemy, a murderer…and it was clear that alcohol had severely impaired his judgment.

It was all impossible.

But it didn't feel that way.


End file.
